Free Rush for the Gold: Mystery at the Olympics by John Feinstein

and Tamara absolutely nothing.
    As soon as Magnuson took the extra breath, you could see Susan Carol close the gap. Magnuson was now breathing every stroke. The piano might not have hit her, but she was clearly hurting. As they went under the flags, Stevie could see Susan Carol stretching her long arms in front of her and he knew she was going to win. Magnuson wasbobbing up and down; Susan Carol was plunging forward. Magnuson stole one last breath and it cost her the race.
    The building exploded as Susan Carol touched in 57.88. Magnuson plowed in at 58.01. They had dusted the rest of the field. Lucy Griffin, way out in lane one, actually came on to take third in 59.69. Li faded to fifth; Ausmus, after trying to go out as hard as she could, finished seventh.
    “How about that!” Kelleher yelled.
    “I knew it,” Stevie said. “I knew she had her when Magnuson started breathing every stroke.”
    Kelleher gave him a look. “You noticed that Magnuson was breathing every stroke?”
    “Well, yeah. Susan Carol told me that’s how you can tell when a butterflyer is getting tired.”
    “Okay, that makes it official: You are the Susan Carol Anderson beat writer for the
Washington Herald
.”
    Stevie laughed. “When did Susan Carol get her own beat writer?”
    Kelleher looked down at the deck. Susan Carol had just climbed out of the water and was waving to the crowd, which was still on its feet.
    “About sixty seconds ago,” he said.

8: WINNING?
    T amara stayed behind to watch Phelps swim so Stevie and Bobby could go downstairs to the interview room to see Susan Carol. When they made their way into the jam-packed room, they spotted Mike Unger in the back. Kelleher and Stevie worked their way through the crowd to talk to him.
    “Great race, huh?” Unger said. “Hey, you were asking about Trevor James before?” He pointed to the podium. “That’s him. He’s taking care of this press conference because I have to go out and get Phelps organized once he swims.”
    A short man wearing a USA Swimming tracksuit was standing at the microphone and calling for quiet. He had closely cropped graying blond hair and the look of someone who had once been an agent, though Stevie wasn’t quite sure he could articulate what that meant.
    The room quieted enough for James to tell everyone why he wanted quiet. “I want to be sure all of you understand our guidelines. Susan Carol Anderson and Christine Magnuson will be here in five minutes. You’ll have a maximum of fifteen minutes with them because Michael Phelps will be in soon after that and we know you all want to talk to him.
    “So, let’s keep the aisles clear as the swimmers come in and out.”
    “Where can we talk to the swimmers after they finish in here?” someone up front asked. James was shaking his head before the questioner had even finished.
    “No, no, no. You’ll get plenty in here. The swimmers all have races early tomorrow, so—”
    “Susan Carol doesn’t,” Stevie heard himself say, before he remembered he was in a jam-packed room. Everyone turned to look at him. “Um, she’s got the 200-fly heats at noon and then the final isn’t until Sunday morning.”
    James was glaring at him. “Young man, are you credentialed to be here?” he said in the sort of condescending tone Stevie truly hated. He was about to take his press pass from around his neck and wave it in the air when he heard Kelleher’s voice.
    “He’s got a credential,” Kelleher said. “The real question is, when did you take over PR for USA Swimming, and how do you know what reporters need and don’t need? Normally we have access to the swimmers outside of this room.”
    Several voices backed Kelleher up. Now James looked
really
annoyed.
    “This is a USA Swimming event, Mr.…”
    “Kelleher,” Bobby said.
“Washington Herald.”
    “Mr. Kelleher, this is our event and you play by our rules. If you don’t like them, you’re free to leave.”
    Kelleher looked about as angry as Stevie